A popular topic in today’s news seems to be dreams.  Not the kind you have at night along with nightmares, but the dreams that pop into your head when you are contemplating life’s promises.

You know what I mean — flying to the moon (a dream fulfilled), winning the lottery (not much of a chance of being fulfilled) or living forever (not a chance in you know where of that happening).

But dreams are important.

We would not have the automobile, airplanes, or the television if it weren’t for dreams.  The Internet was someone’s dream as was cell phones and medical technology.  Everything we value today came from a dream of the impossible.

Recently we heard the news that Shirley Temple had passed away.  That got me to thinking about one of my dreams.  When I was a little girl, Shirley Temple movies were very popular.  My mom and dad took me to the theater to see those movies and I dreamed of becoming Shirley Temple.  I loved the curly hair since mine was straight as a stick, and I loved her tap dancing and singing.

Evidently my mother wanted that for me also.  She took me on the streetcar to a beauty shop and had my hair permed.  In those days it was getting it fried under clamps that hung down from wires that heated and cooked the curl into your hair.  Ringlets they were not.  More like frizz.

So much for the ringlets.  She tried to curl it with rags, and that didn’t work, but she never gave up. Next were the tap dancing lesson. Then, when my dad got into the act he taught me to sing.

Did anything ever come of all of this? Well he would have me sing at the drop of a hat.  I remember standing on a street corner singing my heart out.  In those days there was no “American Idol” or “America’s Got Talent,” only Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour on the radio.

The Original Amateur Hour began on radio in 1934 as Major Bowes’ Amateur Hour. In 1946 Ted Mack, a talent scout who had directed the show held auditions at New York’s Radio City Music Hall. Those who passed the initial screening were invited to compete on the program, featuring amateurs whose performances were judged by viewers, voting via letters and phone calls. Contestants who won three times earned cash prizes, scholarships or participation in a traveling stage show associated with the program. Sound familiar?

Well, as you can see, none of this stuck with me.

So here I am writing for this newspaper, no ringlets, no movie contract, no singing career.

But back to the dreams. Do I regret having such a lofty dream? Heck no!  Dreams are the frosting on the cake of life.  They go on the top after the other layers of life are piled together.  They make life happy and well, dreamy.

I’ll keep on dreaming. Hope you do too.

 

Jo-Ann Boepple works at the Edwardsburg Area History Museum.